Dark Space (9 page)

  
Mardron.
He pondered
the name for a moment. He knew of it, but only in passing. It was an out-of-the-way
system, too distant from anything to be an effective outpost, but still close
enough to Temkorian space that it made Shawn exceedingly uncomfortable. That
put him several dozen parsecs from the
Duchess
—let alone any Sector
Command support. If one of the scaly-skinned mercenaries’ frigates or cruisers
happen to come upon his lone fighter, he was quite sure no one would ever
discover his fate. Thankfully, the sensors showed no such warships in the area.
However, it did show Nova’s fighter limping toward the fifth planet at reduced
speed. Shawn had been right: the jump had wounded him.

   Requesting all available
power, Shawn pivoted to once again intercept the fighter, his thoughts about
being permanently stranded in the backwater system all but forgotten. A small
light on his console informed him that he was well within communications range.
Pressing the call button, Shawn tried once again to open the channel. “Jerry,
this is Shawn. Come in, please.”

   He was greeted with static.
Either Shawn’s transceiver was damaged, or Santorum was still giving him the
silent treatment. Quickly looking over his diagnostic terminal, he leaned
toward the latter. “Jerry, I know your fighter’s damaged,” he began, hoping to
lure the lieutenant into conversation. “You’re stuck out here, and there’s
nowhere to run. The gate isn’t going to do you any good, and it’s only a matter
of time before Sector Command figures out where we are.”

   More static. Santorum
continued on course for the icy Mardron-Five without a single fluctuation in
his heading.

   Fixing his scanners on the
planet, Shawn was greeted with a reading of no humanoid life, and only spare
life sign readings from indigenous creatures. No vegetation, except for the
equator, which contained large patches of a blue-green algae that was toxic to
humans.

   “There’s nothing out here,
Jer,” Shawn said, as much to Santorum as to himself. “I’m getting cold just
looking at that oversized snow cone out there. What do you say we find a nice
bar with some warm drinks and talk this over? Whatever it is, it can’t possibly
be worth dying over. And by the looks of the damage to your fighter, you’re
going to need all the help you can get.”

   More static, but Shawn got
the distinct impression he heard a faint sigh over the comm channel.
Did I
just imagine that, or am I finally getting through to him?

   After another tense moment,
Shawn’s computer informed him that not only was Nova now in weapons range, but
that he should also fire at his earliest convenience. Disregarding the machine,
Shawn gripped the control stick, his finger hovering over the particle
accelerator trigger when he heard Nova’s voice.

   “I can’t go back, nor do I
want to.”

   Surprised, Shawn wanted to
try and keep the man talking. “Aw, come on, Jer. The food isn’t all that bad.”
If he could just get a little closer, Shawn was sure he could disable the
fighter with a single, well-placed shot to the drive module.

   “This … this isn’t right.
Can’t you see? Don’t you understand?” Jerry said, sounding both bewildered and
terrified.

   “Help me understand, Jerry.
I want to help.”

   “No,” the lieutenant
replied, then repeated himself thrice more, each one louder than the previous.
“You don’t understand, and I’m not going to try and convince you. It’d be
pointless.” There was a pause before he spoke again. “Raven … she was my
friend. I didn’t … I didn’t … but I did. I had to.” This was followed by what
sounded like a grunt of pain. 

   “Jerry? Are you okay. You
sound hurt.” But Jerry seemed more than just hurt. It was almost as if he were …
confused
. “You’ve only got a few minutes of fuel reserves left. We need
to—”

   “In a few minutes, one of
us is going to be dead, and I’m willing to bet that it isn’t going to be me.”
Jerry’s tone was no longer labored, replaced now with ominous inflection.

   Shawn nudged his fighter a
little closer, slowing to one-quarter power. “You seem awfully confident there,
buddy. What’s your plan?” Shawn switched on the computer-controlled targeting
computer. He hated the thing, but it was the only way to make sure the first
shot was the only one fired in this altercation.

   “First I’m going to kill
you,” Jerry said with a maniacal chuckle. “Just like I did to Raven. Then my
friends out there are going to come pick me up. I’ll be drinking to your bad
health long after Sector Command even figures out where you jumped to, let
alone comes to your rescue.”

   Gone was the West Texan
drawl that Shawn had become accustomed to hearing from the young man. If it weren’t
for the pitch and tone, Shawn doubted he would even recognize the voice as
Jerry’s. 
And what “friends” was he talking about?
The sensors were
still a blank … unless his computer was still acting up.
Then again, if
someone were out there, they would have undoubtedly come to the rescue already.
No. He’s waiting for someone, and if I don’t take care of this quickly, they’re
going to take me out when they show up.

   The computer registered a
positive lock on Santorum’s drive module with a beep that broke Shawn’s chain
of thought. He increased the pressure to his finger, but as the single energy
blast shot out from his fighter, Jerry managed a dive that would have caused
most pilots to lose their lunch. The charged energy rounds passed harmlessly
through empty space.

   “You’ll have to try harder
than that, Commander,” Santorum jibed.

   Shawn watched as the
fighter came out of its descent in a leisurely manner, as if the younger
officer was gloating. Shawn still had a full load of medium- and long-range
missiles. He could easily fire off a small salvo, knowing that Jerry wouldn’t
be able to evade them all. However, Shawn wanted him alive, and would do
whatever he had to do to get Santorum to talk. Keeping the cannons set to half
power, Shawn throttled up and moved to intercept him once again.

   Jerry likewise accelerated,
then turned to bring his craft head-on with Shawn’s once again. Shawn was
silently grateful Nova had depleted his missiles, knowing that the lieutenant
would have likely fired more than one at the oncoming Maelstrom.

   Once in range, the two
fighters traded rounds again, Shawn’s missing where Nova’s scored a hit.
Thankfully the damage to Shawn’s port stabilizer was superficial.
That could
have gone better.
Turning in a wide arc to starboard, Shawn momentarily
lost sight of Santorum. The sensors were also giving him false images, likely
the result of Santorum attempting to jam Shawn’s electronics. Panning his gaze
around the cockpit, he caught a glimpse of Nova just in time. The lieutenant
was coming in from above, and Shawn deftly rolled the craft to port to avoid
the barrage of blasts heading for his ship. 

   As luck would have it,
Shawn ended the roll in time to see Nova rush through his previous position.
Taking the advantage, Shawn opened the valves for the auxiliary fuel stores.
Kicking the dual engines into full burn, he pulled back and twisted the
fighter, ending up right on Nova’s tail. Surprising the commander, his fighter’s
short-range cannons automatically came online—the result of Shawn having left
the targeting computer on. They found their target quickly enough, putting
several holes in Jerry’s starboard engine before he had a chance to pull away.
Smoking and sputtering plasma, Jerry quickly angled his injured fighter for the
frigid Mardron Five.

   Shawn turned in the
opposite direction, giving him a chance to make a wide arching turn and getting
a proper weapons lock on Santorum. Jerry’s fighter was getting dangerously
close to the upper atmosphere, and Shawn had doubts that the damaged fighter
could make it through to the surface intact.
Was it a death wish? 
“Jerry,
increase your pitch or you’re going to bounce!” he shouted.

   Whether Nova was doing as
he requested, or because his own piloting skills told him so, the damaged
Maelstrom’s nose pitched slightly up. Shawn breathed a sigh of relief until he
noticed that Santorum had increased the output of his remaining engine. Outside
the cockpit, Shawn watched as heat wave began forming around the front of
Jerry’s craft
. If he makes it through the atmosphere, I won’t be able to hit
him from space.
Resigning himself, Shawn requested the navigation computer
make preparations for planet-fall.

   A moment later Shawn’s own
craft began to heat up as it entered the upper layers of the planet’s
atmosphere. The computer began reading off the outside temperature, but after
several seconds Shawn silenced the annoying voice. His ship bucked underneath
him as it was buffeted by severe turbulence. Outside, he could just make out
the form of Jerry’s craft as it battled against the planet’s ionosphere.
Grasping the control stick with both hands, Shawn wondered how in the name of
Third Earth Nova was going to make it through this on only one engine.

   Then, nearly as abruptly as
it had begun, it was over. Shawn’s fighter was high above the clouds, and for
an instant he was reminded with longing the last time he’d piloted his Mark-IV
in a similar situation. High above Mardron’s snowy plains, the gray and white
clouds were beautiful, stretching for hundreds of miles in every direction.
Then the sensors began beeping, letting Shawn know they had reacquired Nova’s
beacon. Pushing down through several layers of puffy clouds, Shawn quickly
found the smoke trail left by Jerry’s damaged engine. The lieutenant had
miraculously made it, but how long his craft would remain in one piece was
anyone’s guess.

   Down and down the two
fighters went, until finally breaking through the last layer of clouds. Below
them was an icy forest, speckled with tall, dome-topped trees made of
light-blue ice crystals. Turning off the computer-controlled weapons, Shawn
aimed and fired several rounds over Jerry’s bow to let the younger man know he
was still being pursued. Nova’s response was immediate. He dipped his fighter
even farther, choosing to try and evade Shawn inside the ice crystal forest.

  
Jerry might have a death
wish, but I sure as hell don’t.
Taking aim at several of the tall blooms up
ahead, Shawn fired two missiles that sailed past Jerry and hit against the
lattice-like trunks of the crystal trees. The base of the structures shattered
into a thousand pieces, raining debris in every direction and pelting Nova’s
craft a dozen times over. Even more smoke began to eject from the craft.

   Then it happened. Waiting
too long to bank, perhaps because he was unable, Jerry’s right wingtip impacted
with a particularly nasty-looking spire jutting from the snow-covered ground.
The force sheared off the last six feet of the wing, sending the craft skidding
to starboard. However, this lasted only a fraction of a second, because the
left wing slammed headlong into one of the crystal trees, toppling the
structure and breaking Nova’s wing completely off. The fuselage finally touched
the ground, rolling until the left wing fully separated, then continued to
tumble lengthwise until it finally came to rest against another towering icy
lattice, the impact of which caused ice crystals to fall off like dead leaves,
pelting the stricken fighter from above.

   Flying in a single, tight
circle over the wreckage, Shawn could see no sign of life from the downed
interceptor. His sensors were telling him that a clearing was nearby, and he
knew he’d have to set his craft down to investigate. Performing one more
flyover, Shawn angled his fighter to its intended landing spot about three hundred
yards from Jerry’s final resting place.

 “When I heard that Kestrel
had gone off half-cocked, it didn’t surprise me one bit. He was always a loose
cannon, and I think many of the upper brass thought the same thing—they just
turned a blind eye to it. But after the incident involving Santorum, it was
pushed so far into their faces they couldn’t see around it. They needed to deal
with it … with him, once and for all. And we should
all
be glad they did.”

-Admiral Richard
Krif (Ret.)

Annals
of a Bygone Era: The Golden Age of Unified Sector Command

   Once Shawn had secured his
fighter on an unbroken sheet of compacted snow, he removed his helmet and leapt
from the cockpit. The snow-covered ground beneath his boots compacted several
more inches before he finally stabilized. Looking around the small pasture of
snow he found himself in, Shawn was momentarily awed by the size of the
crystal-like trees rimming the area. Each stood more than a hundred feet tall,
with faceted, transparent trucks, and mushroom-like canopies covered in
sparkling snow. There was no wind or any other sound in the immediate area. In
the distance, a column of dark brown smoke smudged the otherwise gray-white
sky.

   The ship’s sensors had told
him the temperature was a chilly twenty degrees Fahrenheit, and this was one
instance where he was thankful he was wearing his restrictive—yet fully
insulated—flight coveralls. Turning to his wrist-mounted computer, Shawn
trained it in the direction of the smoke funnel. Power readings were almost
nonexistent, but he was getting a faint life reading. Something in him allowed
Shawn to breathe a sigh of relief that Nova had survived. However, with
readings this low, Santorum was likely badly injured—perhaps too critically for
Shawn to do anything helpful with the paltry emergency medical kit he had taken
from inside his fighter.

   Besides, even if Shawn was
able to drag Santorum back to his own fighter, there was only room for one in
the cramped cockpit. Add to that the fact that Shawn seriously doubted he had
enough fuel remaining to take off, let alone maintain any kind of orbit while
he waited for the
Duchess
to locate them—and who knew how long that
could take. For the time being, he and Jerry Santorum were the only two humans
in this entire star system, and a very real fear of isolation Shawn hadn’t
known in a long time crept up on him.

   Reaching down, he pulled
the black pistol from his holster. Checking the charge and setting the weapon
on non-lethal, he slowly made his way in the direction where Jerry’s fighter
had come to rest.

%%%

   Nearing the edge of the ice
forest, Shawn found himself on a small rise overlooking the spot where Nova’s
fighter had crashed. He could see the trees that had been the eventual downfall
of the Maelstrom, their once-beautiful faceted shells now shattered and
sprinkled throughout the surrounding snow. A gust of wind—as surprising at is
was unwelcomed—began blowing from behind Shawn as he gazed down the two hundred
or so yards of slope to the fighter.

   After a moment, the wind
became even more pronounced. Flakes of snow began to whiz past the commander
with greater and greater ferocity. No sooner had the flakes begun to fly than
the wind became even stronger. There was a howling behind Shawn, like that of a
hundred wolves overlapping one another, and he turned slowly to see what the
cause of it all was.

   A dark gray mass of snow
and ice—not unlike a small tornado—was quickly bearing down on him. Shards of
piercing ice crystals were being thrown about in the wind, some coming to land
perilously close to Shawn’s position. That was when the storm reached out, like
a hand trying to swat at the ground. A tendril of ice particles flung down,
uprooting a fifty-foot ice tree as if it were made of feathers, and tossed it
over Shawn’s head. He watched with awe as it landed less than fifty feet behind
him with the sound of a hundred glass beakers breaking, carving a large gouge
into the snowy slope beyond.

   Another large howl caught
his attention, and Shawn turned back to the storm. It was closer. A lot closer.
From within the twirling cloud shot a spear of ice about ten feet long. Shawn
leapt out of the way just in time for the impromptu spear to whirl past his
face. Almost as quickly another came out, this one lobbed high into the air.
Thankful he had an extra moment, Shawn quickly pulled out his blaster and
incinerated the spear before it had a chance to land on him.

   In the lull he could see
shards flying in every direction, and knew instantly that he had far overstayed
his welcome in this particular forest. As he looked for a way down the slope to
Jerry’s fighter, another ice tree was uprooted, this one falling about ten feet
behind him. Then, as quickly as it had begun, the ice storm died down. The
howling winds quieted, and the ice particles melted into pleasant snowflakes.
The wind calmed, and Shawn was one again surrounded by silence.

  
Thank God that’s over.

   Then he heard something: a
cracking, not unlike the sound of an ice cube placed in glass of warm water.
There was a popping sound, which was quickly followed by another, and another.
As Shawn looked around, he caught sight of it. The tree that had fallen behind
him had begun to crack the snow sheet under his boots. He watched as the crack
began to surround him, until he was finally facing in the direction of Jerry’s
fighter. The crack stopped as it met up with the sliver carved out by the ice
tree that had been hurled over his body a few moments before.

   “Oh, hell.” He only had a
split second to contemplate what was about to happen before the entire sheet
gave way and he slid helplessly down the side of the slope.

%%%

   “Is he going to be all right?”
Melissa asked, looking down at the battered form of Lieutenant Drok I’Rondus.
The overhead lights of sickbay gave the man’s pallid features a sickly glow,
and had it not been for the rhythmic beats of the nearby diagnostic equipment,
Melissa would have been hard-pressed to believe Drake was still alive.

   The doctor placed a gentle
hand over Drake’s forehead. He was still unconscious, and he’d lost quite a bit
of blood from the stabs to his midsection. Still, the medical team had gotten
to him in time. “He’ll be laid up for at least a couple of weeks, but I think
he’ll pull through,” she said kindly.

   Melissa nodded, pursing her
lips as she looked into the eyes of Commander Ophelia Finly, the chief medical
officer from the
Rhea
. “I still can’t believe you’re here,” she said.
“If it weren’t for you—”

   Ophelia smiled, the crow’s
feet in the corner of her eyes crinkling. The doctor appeared to have aged a
few years since last Melissa had seen her. A streak of silver had cropped up in
her dark hair, and discolored crescents that had not been there before lined
the underside of her eyes.

  
Then again, war has a
way of doing such things to people.

  
“If it weren’t for me, it would just as
well have been someone else, my dear,” Ophelia replied in her kind, almost
motherly tone. “The
Duchess
has some of the finest in the fleet, you
know.”

   “But it was you. Thank you
for responding to the call.”

   “I was just in the right
place at the right time. If you have anyone to thank, it should be Captain
Krif. He asked me to come along when he shuttled over here just after the
Duchess
entered the system. Besides, Doctor McElroy is still busy tending to the
wounded from your last battle,” she said, then turned her head to nod at the
Duchess
’s
chief physician hard at work on the far side of the room.

   “And why did he ask you to
come along?” Melissa asked.

   Ophelia turned and raised
an eyebrow. “Always the intelligence operative?”

   Melissa blushed, turning
her head back to Drake coyly.

   Doctor Finly reached out
and clutched Melissa’s hand. “Sorry, dear. I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”

   “It’s … it’s all right. I’m
just—” she tried, then twirled her hands as she tried to get the right words to
come out of her mouth. When her lips failed her, she brought her hands to her
scalp and ran them through her hair. “Hell, I don’t know.”

   Ophelia smiled again, a
twinkle in her gray eyes. “Is it Shawn?”

   Melissa’s arms folded
across her chest as she looked to the overhead. “God, am I
that
transparent?” she whispered.

   “Care to tell me what
happened?”

   “I’m afraid I don’t know
much, really. I’ve been told he stole a fighter and left a short time ago.”

   The doctor hummed in
contemplation. “And did he tell you where he was going?”

   Melissa didn’t want to lie
to her, but then again, she didn’t have the whole story herself. Ophelia was a
friend, one of the few she’d made while aboard the
Rhea
. Still, something
was going on, something Shawn and she were only now becoming aware of. The less
the rest of the crew knew, the better. “I’m afraid I don’t have an answer for
that.”

   Ophelia harrumphed. “That’s
just like a pilot. Always on the move, not a care in the world about those back
here who love him.” The doctor watched as Melissa’s face turned an even darker
shade of pink. “Oh, dear. I’ve done it again, haven’t I?”

   Melissa sighed. “It’s okay.
Really. I shouldn’t be so uncomfortable over it. I’m sure most everyone has
figured it out by now.”

   “Well, it is written all
over your face when someone mentions his name.”

   “Yes. I suppose it is.”

   Ophelia checked Drake’s
vitals once more and, seeing they were still strong, looked back to Melissa.
“But, does
he
know it? Shawn, that is.”

   “Oh, yes,” she replied, her
mind focusing on their last kiss. “Yes, he knows.”

   “It’s settled, then.”

   The tone was resolute
enough to draw Melissa from her daydream. “Beg your pardon?” she asked in
confusion.

   “How’s your medical
training?”

   Curious as to the doctor’s
new course of questioning, Melissa shrugged. “Basic, but I’ve taken some
advanced training courses at OSI field offices. Why?”

   “Well, there’s no sense in
you roaming about the ship like a love-struck school girl. We’ve got some
wounded pilots in here who need help, and the
Duchess
’s staff is
shorthanded. Besides, about the only places you’d find yourself anyway is
either on the bridge or in CIC, waiting to hear news of Shawn—both places that
are swarming with people trying to do their jobs. Besides, I have a feeling
that no matter where you are, when something happens, you’ll be the first to
know about it.”

   Melissa was unconvinced,
but knew deep down that something in Ophelia’s words was ringing true. “Are you
sure about that?”

    The doctor reached for her
shoulder. “No, not in the slightest. But you’re here, he’s out there, and I
need your help. As far as Shawn Kestrel is concerned, what say we’ll
both
tend to the commander when he gets back.”

   “What makes you think he’ll
need medical attention?”

   “Because if he doesn’t wise
up and take that new desk job of his seriously, I have half a mind to break his
legs and force it on him.”

   “Then you know about his
new assignment?”

   “Yes,” she said, then
rolled her eyes. “We all do.”

   Melissa caught the meaning.
“Krif?”

   Ophelia nodded. “The captain
was quite …
verbose
… when he heard about Shawn’s promotion to wing commander.
I’m half-surprised he didn’t blow a gasket right there in the wardroom when he
was delivered the message.” She chucked as she recalled the memory of Krif
spitting out his coffee as he read the communique over breakfast. “I wish those
two
boys
would just work it out.”

   “I’m sure they will,”
Melissa smiled fondly. “When Shawn decides to come back.”

   Ophelia turned, withdrew
something from a drawer, then turned back to Melissa. “Enough of that, dear.
Hold out your hand.”

   Melissa compliantly did as
she was asked. The doctor quickly slapped a dermal regenerator into her hand. 

   “Now, come along. We’ve
patients to tend to.”

%%%

   Waking to a field of white,
Shawn had no idea which was up or down. However, with his firm belief that hell
was indeed a hot place—and heaven was very likely a tropical island oasis—he
was sure that he wasn’t dead. The bitter cold surrounding him attested to that
fact. He stretched out his arms, thankful they were still attached, and tried
to decipher which way he should move his body. Slipping his arms under his
chest, he managed to push himself free of the icy blanket covering him.

   He had no idea how long
he’d been out, but the still-smoldering wrecking of Nova’s fighter only a few
yards distant told him it hadn’t been that long. Peeling himself free of his
frozen almost-grave, he checked to make sure that his pistol was still firmly
attached to his side. Dizzy, and with a headache to boot, he nonetheless
brushed off the remains of the snow and stumbled on uneasy legs toward the
wreckage.